


Don't despair

by NovaNara



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Grace Kink (Supernatural), Angelic Grace as Lube (Supernatural), Angst and Porn, Angst and Romance, Castiel resurrected, Clueless Jack, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Seriously Cas how did you figure out it was unrequited, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Wall Sex, fixit, helpful Jack, samwitch, sorry but not ashamed, way too many dashes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:09:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27619523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovaNara/pseuds/NovaNara
Summary: How dared the writers do that in Despair? Seriously, how? Cas deserves better. Dean deserves better. And if they have to take half a hour off from fighting Chuck, so be it. Sam and Jack are going to make sure Destiel happens. When 33% (soon 25%) of your team is near-insane with self-loathing, things never work out for the best anyway.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 11
Kudos: 61





	Don't despair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sendai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sendai/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. Or Castiel wouldn't have made such a pact in the first place!   
> A.N. Happy birthday, Sendai, love!!! Many many happy returns, and I hope that you won't mind the quantity of angst that's in this one, even during the so-called happy ending. I swear, switching out the angsty/worried part of Dean's brain is harder than I expected. That man just won't quit! ^^'''  
> So, this was started before episode 19 and is AU for everything that happens there. I hope nobody minds. (I'm still offended at Jack for what he didn't in that one, by the way.) Enjoy!

When Sam and Jack find him, Dean hasn't moved yet. If it wasn't for the fact he's alive, he wouldn't even be sure he's breathed. Why? Why would Cas do something so stupid? Didn't he know that Dean would prefer to follow Billie, no take-backsies, hell, he'd much rather march himself back to his rack in hell than have Castiel sacrifice himself for him, much less after saying- how did Cas get in his head that he couldn't have Dean, anyways? The reaper's words from the other day echo in his brain. “This is Winchester-dumb.”

Sam sighs seeing him, but he seems about to vibrate out of his skin with worry, and – yeah, just what Dean needs. More guilt. He just couldn't answer the phone, okay? And he can't even apologize now, because – if he opens his mouth, he's sure he's not going to be able to form words. A wail to make a banshee proud, maybe. But not – he might be unable to use words for the rest of his life, actually. Because he couldn't speak when it mattered. And Cas is dead, and he thought Dean didn't want him, and – what good are soul bonds anyway, if they don't give you a bit of telepathy, or at least emotional reading? All the fanfics agree on that. (Ok, fanfics also had aliens and a ton of non-existent shit, but – couldn't they be right once? They were right about them.)

Oh. Sam's speaking. So, everyone is dead, including people who shouldn't be, so why has Billie...?

Dean doesn't even let him finish that question, shaking his head violently. Not Billie. And if they'd known, he wouldn't have – she could be the next God, for all he cared, she could have had everything so long as – but he can't go back. Cas knew how to time-travel. And it wasn't a kind of time-travel where you could change things, anyway. But damn, he would have tried.

“Dean? Dean, what happened?” Sam again, crouching in front of him. Touching his shoulder. Thankfully not Cas' one, so he doesn't have one extra breakdown on top of the current one.

He can't answer. Why doesn't Sam just _get it_?

“Where's Cas?” Looking for someone who would speak up, of course.

All he can do is curl up tighter and bite his tongue till it bleeds. He's not going to scream. He's not. He doesn't deserve to.

Jack has kept a respectful distance – afraid, possibly – and utterly quiet, but now that clear, childish voice says, “I didn't think he'd be happy.”

“What?” Sam turns to the kid, and – that's good.

“I'm sorry,” and isn't that all Jack has been saying since – too long. “I wanted to tell you, but Castiel said you didn't need to worry about it, because it wouldn't come to pass anytime soon anyway, so. And with one trouble on top of another, I thought he was right. It made sense.” And then he's explaining the whole deal with the Empty, and Dean is unreasonably, stupidly livid because if he'd known all along – what? Castiel told him, and it didn't change a single thing. Besides proving Cas was wrong about him – he is a broken thing, a creature of fury, and...would he have proved it to the angel if he'd known it in advance? Could he have persuaded Cas to un-love him?

“Did you kiss, then?”

His brother's voice has gone soft, and it doesn't help. It doesn't help that they were both obvious to everyone but each other, it doesn't help that – if Cas had just _taken_ a kiss, he'd still be shattered but differently. Less guilt, maybe. But what did he expect from a literal angel? A shaky, wheezing breath is all he manages. Too wrecked to even shake his head anymore.

“Damn!” Sam sounds pissed , too, and while he's right – Dean was supposed to help, not get Cas killed and ruin everything – it'd be nice if he could yell at him when he's feeling slightly less raw. “Ok, change of plans. We kick the Empty's ass, get Castiel back, and _then_ we'll make Chuck regret ever self-inserting.”

And just like that, Dean forgets the mourning, and guilt, and everything that's been eating him up, because – Sammy sounds so sure. Matter-of-fact statements. No wonder the other hunters looked up to him. His baby brother is awesome. “Can we?” His arms drop. He needs to see Sammy. He needs to gauge how honest he's being.

“I think so. Or, well, maybe not kick its ass, no matter how tempting it would be.” Nope, you can't give someone hope like that and then yank it away, there's gotta be a law against it. “But I've met the thing, and if I could scam it, you will, too. Who's taught me everything I know, uh?” Sam's smiling that admiring smile that always filled Dean with way too much pride, but he's not making any sense.

“Scam?” Is this going to be another pool hustling job? What is with supernatural entities and pool? Poker? A credit card thing? ...What would the Empty do with a credit card?

“We might not have a weapon against it, but it turns out the Empty can be scared into submission. Maybe because it just wants to go back the fuck to sleep, it's tired, what do I know. If you can convince it that it won't have rest anymore unless it does what you want, guess what?”

“Oh, but it won't,” he growls. Not until Dean's atomized. And maybe they'll find a way around that, too. “Can we summon it – you know, without someone dying?”

Sam turns, about to go research, no doubt, when Jack says, “Or, you could go. I've been there, when Billie – well, and even if it's not a place for people, it's a place, besides entity or whatever, so. Portal, maybe? I mean, does it even matter now, if Chuck notices or not? He doesn't seem in a mood to murder me any longer.”

Despite the way he craves to make things right, he asks, “You sure?” If he brings back Castiel only to have accidentally caused Jack's death – that doesn't bear thinking about.

“You said the people vanishing wasn't Billie, so it had to be Chuck. The Empty wouldn't know what to do with human souls, anyway. And – he had every chance to take me, us, out with everyone else.”

Everyone? Fuck. He's heard that someone not supposed to died, but – everyone? They could have – he didn't answer, and that could have been Sammy saying goodbye. He suddenly tastes bile, but he's not gonna be sick. Not now. They're busy.

He stares at his brother, thanking Chuck's sadistic penchant for making relatives kill each other. He doesn't doubt that's what kept them safe. Sam is looking at a random corner right now, making himself small the way he amazingly can sometimes, as if he's expecting a telling off...for what? Not being able to stop Chuck, when they didn't even know it was him? Sam, who probably needs to have a mental breakdown of his own, only postponed it because Dean was already in the middle of one, and they take turns to fall apart. Always have.

“There's only one problem.” That's Jack again, who seems to find his own shoes suddenly fascinating. “Since I've been in the Empty and, I guess, I absorbed part of it, as I was primed to – I kill things. When I try to use my powers. But I'm going to find a way to control it!” The boy sounds so earnest.

“Or, we just pack me with every protection we know, and cross our fingers.” There must be a way around it. He can't wait however long it takes Jack to get his powers leashed. He can't.   
  
“Yeah, sure, and – Rowena!” Sammy doesn't look anymore like he's waiting for a tongue-lashing, and that's good. Dean kinda wishes the witch's mention didn't come with such sudden enthusiasm, though.   
  
“Do you think we need another trip down?” Not that he's opposed on principle, but – he'd rather get things done.

“No need to. That spell of hers, you know, the one that resurrected her after Lucifer murdered her, the one Ketch used too. It must be in her books. And I bet that there are all the ingredients in what we've found at hers, too. Sure, it needs to be recharged every time, but there's a chance the Empty won't know, and resurrecting, if the other spells fail, will surely drive the point that you're not to be messed with.” And with that, Sam runs away. Dean doesn't know when he raised a witch – wizard? But he's so not complaining.

“Ok, then – I have some preparations of my own to make.” He's going to get Cas back, and make the point that the Empty won't sleep a wink unless it caves. The obvious answer to both these needs is, of course, rock music. And he knows just which one.

It takes a bit of rooting around, of course. He has to hope that his angel didn't have it on himself when he was taken away. He could make another, obviously, but it'd take more time than he can bear. Now, where could Cas have left it?

Oh. The car, naturally. Not the Impala, that....well, Dean's opinion of Castiel's car is best kept to himself. Especially because his soon-to-be-boyfriend is sensitive about it. Just another thing he's learned from Dean, if one thinks about it. Even if it's a long time since it's been used, the Led Zeppelin mixtape is snug inside the recorder. Now, if only Sam could get a move with the protection spells part.

The minutes trickle by, and Dean resists the urge to check. The last thing he needs is to disturb his brother at a key part and make the whole magic come undone. He could go to Jack, but – to be honest, he feels too guilty to. He's been an asshole squared to the kid lately, and despite that, Jack has done nothing but offering to help. He'll have to grovel to the boy eventually, he knows, but not when he's this tense. With his luck, he would make things even worse between them. So, instead, he paces through the bunker's parking lot, pats his Baby for comfort, promises Cas' ridiculous car to bring him back, and keeps pacing some more.

Finally, Sammy's calling him. Dean rushes back upstairs. It's happening. They're doing this. If his heart doesn't beat out of his chest before, that is. Sam can't be blamed for taking his time, though. He didn't just reproduce Rowena's “+ 1 life” hex bag. (Is it a hex if it works as a boost? Never mind, he'll leave the details to his brother.) There is a spread of amulets, charms, and who knows what else on the table, enough to protect a small army.

“You'll need some extra, I thought. For Cas, too. Since Jack's powers are out of whack...wouldn't want him to get hurt while coming back.” And then, of course, comes the lesson on what's what, what suits best Castiel or him, how to turn on the couple that don't automatically activate, and so on. In a different situation, Dean would shrug it off and leave Sam in charge of all that. But he's going alone. If he fails, Sammy will still be around to kick everyone's ass. And if he succeeds – his plans are ridiculous enough that he wouldn't be able to pull them off with his brother at his side. He'd combust in embarrassment.

In fact, he pockets everything, sits quietly through the hex bag – Rowena's special – being sewn into his arm by a very apologetic Sam,and then mutters, “I'll be back soon. You stay here, okay?”   
  
“Shouldn't I -” Sam rises, making to follow, a fluttery kind of anxiety in the lines of his body.  
  
Normally Dean's priority would be to reassure him, but right now, all he can think about is how close he is to finding Castiel again. So he smiles.“I just need Jack to let me through. Being watched isn't going to help the kid. A bit of research? By the time we're back, you might have come up with a new plan.”

That's enough for Sam, who nods and sits back down. Dean leaves..and sneaks towards his room, to get the stereo. Yeah, he's going full-blown, cliché chick flick. Sue him. He thought he'd been as obvious as humanly possible, but if his angel didn't get the message, well – hopefully Metatron's infodump (as easier as it's made conversation, did it feel weird to have Cas starting to get references back then) included rom-coms. Which Dean emphatically does not watch. But everyone can stumble on something while surfing channels, right?

Jack is still in the room where it...happened. Maybe because it's easier to reach the Empty where it breached through, or because he hasn't been told what to do in the meantime, and is too nervous about messing up. Hell, Dean's a mess right now, feels half-sick just going through the torn door, and the days supernatural dicks tried to manipulate him into the apocalypse day in and day out are long past. Or – they never really went away, but before Chuck's latest tantrum, their cruel, capricious god (the bastard had been honest from the start, even while he lied) had learned to at least pretend to give them some choice.

“Jack – thank you.” Dean doesn't say “whatever happens”, but he doesn't have to. He just hopes that the bunker is as safe as they've always thought, because the sudden fear of coming back with Cas and not finding anyone else almost makes him stay. Almost. But an universe where Cas died for him? That's hardly worth saving.

And then Jack smiles, says “Bring him back,” and the universe rips in front of him. Instead of the usual, faintly brilliant portal, this one is jet black, but Dean steps in anyway.

He thought he was ready for everything, but the Empty is really...empty. Black, and cloying, and if Chuck bothered to put up such a Byzantine system for dead people, why would he toss even angels in a dump like this? Demons, maybe. But angels? Sure, most of them are dicks, but the majority were his devoted dicks. It's not just Cas who – even that fucking bastard Zachariah deserved better. Or, worse if you ask Dean but anyway – something. The sudden wave of rage takes him by surprise. He knows he cares about his angel, but he didn't know he could give a fuck about the many immortal bastards he's encountered.

Never mind that. He's on a mission. The stereo blares “All of my Love” as loud as it'll go. It doesn't drag Cas out – yet – but it sure makes someone appear, thunderously angry. It looks like Meg, but the voice – that somehow manages to cut through the music despite being little more than a hiss (is the noise dulled?) - can't belong to the teasing demon he knows. “You all can't just waltz in here and ruin my day! People are trying to sleep here!! Or – they were at least, before Castiel, and his son, and – what does your whole family have against proper rest?”

“Guilty as charged, we're all an insomniac mess, but – you can go and have your nap...as soon as you give Cas back. You didn't really think you could keep him after today, did you?” Dean shrugs.

“But I won't be able to sleep if he's not here!”

“Well, he's here, and I don't see you dreaming. Look, if that's your whole problem, I'm sure we can help you fix it. There has to be some magical Valium thing. As soon as we get rid of the current Chuck issue, though. Get a number, okay? And if you know anything that could actually help...sooner that bastard is out of commission, sooner we can solve your problem.” And he's not even lying. If knocking this thing out is all they need to do to keep Cas safe? There must be a way.

“Billie said the same, but she wouldn't listen to me. And then I ate her.” She (it?) smacks her lips.

“And thanks for that. She wasn't exactly the best problem solver anyway. We have a resume, instead. But of course, you have to send Cas back first. Proof that you've picked a side. And besides, you don't want him.”

“I don't?” She raises an eyebrow. “I picked this form because I wanted him. I thought even someone like you would understand.”

“Meg knew she couldn't have him. I thought that was the subtext. If you can know what she knew... I was his boyfriend first.” Maybe not technically, but – oh God, how had he been so stupid to assume she was goading him about his feelings and not imagine Cas could reciprocate him, too, back then? They deserved each other. Their soul bond was probably forged in idiocy.

“And last.”

Dean is not going to attack a cosmic entity. Not when he needs her to send Cas back with him. But oh, he's itching to, at her words – and at the vicious smile that underlines them. So, instead, he says, “You _are_ going to let him go.”

“Or I could destroy you, right here, right now.” Her tone is casual, almost bored. Despite all his protections, Dean suddenly feels like he's going to asphyxiate. This is her domain, her power apparently absolute. He nods, and she lets him catch a breath “So? Are you going to hightail?”

“I can't.”

“Are you trying to give me a headache? I have no qualms about squashing you like the bug you are.”

“Are you sure not to be allergic to bees?” Dean plasters his most arrogant smile on his lips. “Because of course you can, but you should be aware that – there's a consequence for that. They're going to come here. Jack for Castiel, I bet. And – well, you kill me, you're gonna have Sam on your case.”

“Jack – that kind of power he had last time can't be sustained for long. It might be my chance to put the boy in his place. As for your brother – do you mean Death's errand boy? Why should I be scared of that when I took care of her?”

“You're more stupid than I thought.” He didn't flinch at her frown, but she didn't attack him again. She wanted to know. Well, he was here to tell her. “Of course we all do the occasional errand. And it has exactly no impact on how dangerous we are. Any monster stupid enough to think I'm not a threat because I make a beer run would be dead before they could say that.”

“You're still all mere humans – or mine to rule” she snapped.

“And you think humans can't touch you? I'll have to warn you about Sam, his music tastes are even worse than my own – and likely to wake Balthazar up, if only to yell at him. Lucifer, too – how much do you bet he's going to turn up, out of sheer habit? And no fucking body wants that. Hell, maybe that bitch Ruby too. And that's just from Sam being in the general neighborhood, and a very conservative guesstimate at that. How are you going to deal with that much noise, uh? Can you lull everyone back to sleep, and deal with whatever Sammy's undoubtedly cooking up at the same time? Seriously, take it from someone who's had decades with the man. His hunting ability notwithstanding, he could teach a PhD on being annoying. ”

That's how the best scams work. As much truth as you can, wrapping a little hook. Jack and Sam have better things to worry about than Cas, or even him. With Chuck making a mess out there, if they're lost, they're lost. But if this bitch has access to Meg, that Sammy would want anyone who kills him dead, despite the literal end of the world, is going to sound all too plausible.

“So, what are you feeling like? Want to bet that you can deal with everyone who's going to awaken really soon? Or are you just going to keep the pact up, send Cas back, help us with Chuck, and I promise we're gonna find an incantation or something strong enough to knock you out for eons to come?”

“Even with Castiel leaving his proper place?”

“With Cas in his proper place, you mean. We're going to murder God. Do you really think that figuring out a little sleeping pill is outside of our abilities?” Why didn't she ask Rowena, to begin with, rather than entangling with Death, hunting Cas, and generally being a pain? She has Crowley. She should know about the witch.

“If I ever come to regret this, you will too.” Not-Meg is pouting.

Dean's grin, this time, is entirely honest. “I wouldn't expect anything else.”

She stomps off, slowly merging into the nothingness, and the music blares again. The tape is at “In the light”, and – yeah, a bit of light would be nice here. Ask and ye shall receive, apparently, because a blue (bluest of blues, a shade he knows oh-so-well) glow appears just in front of him, before solidifying into Cas – trenchcoat and all.

“Dean? What are you doing here?” Cas sounds and looks confused, more than anything. So chick-flicks are garbage, just like Dean's always known.

And still, he finds himself tongue-tied, despite having come forward for this, and – nope. He has to say something. So he rambles, of course. “In this family, we don't believe in staying dead. I thought you knew by now, Cas.”

His angel doesn't laugh, still looks almost unconvinced, and the next words that slip out of Dean – well, he's very happy that nobody else is here to hear him beg. “Please Cas, you've gotta come home.”

“The Empty -”

“She agreed to this, so you don't get that excuse. You can come back if you want. And you – you can't spout all that and check out without listening, man.”

“I'm listening.” Thank anything Cas isn't crying, now, but his voice is as soft as it was, before – nevermind.

“Okay, good, well – I don't know where you got that you couldn't have what you wanted, because damn, Cas, I've – I've used my best pickup line on you! This tape? Hey, that's how dad hooked mom, Led Zeppelins, and with you time-hopping and reading dad's journal, I thought you knew. After a while, I figured _you_ weren't interested, and it made sense, I'm a mess of monumental proportions, so why would you – it was a wonder you stayed, so I took whatever I could get and counted myself lucky. But if you wanted more, uh, have you considered just saying so before you made that damn pact? Because that's a relatively recent event, and I've been pining over a decade here, and I'm not using that word lightly, so if you did too – fuck, Cas! Why aren't we married by now?” He cringes internally. He didn't mean to go that far. Oh, he meant to, of course he wanted to – a pipe dream, he'd thought for so long, but not one he seemed able to throw away – but still. You don't ask people like this. And you date first. And that's not nearly as eloquent or brilliant as the declaration he's received, but he's never been the brilliant one. And so many ands, but there's no room for misunderstandings anymore, and that's the important bit.

“Are you serious?” The angel takes another step towards him, and now they're barely an inch apart.

“Of course I am. You know me, I wouldn't lie. Not about this, not to you. Sure, I have my flaws, but I'm not that big of a bastard.” If there's one thing he's always been, it's upfront in his relationships, if you could call most of them that. He might lie about his name, his career, and dozens of other details, but he's never promised commitment or feelings when he had no intention to deliver. “Please, Cas.”

And then lips are against his own, but it doesn't feel right, not real – more like that time the fucking Egyptian god unleashed Jo's ghost on him, and she kind-of brushed against him. Dean's frustrated whimper makes him blush.

“Home,” he says again, and when Cas nods, worry suddenly knots in his gut. What if? “Wait, the portal is kind of wonky this time, so –” He's pushing one, two, three assorted protections in Castiel's hands. Whether it's the compatible magic, or whatever Sammy must have figured out, they don't slip through ghostly fingers. Dean releases a deep breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

The lack of light – black on black – disconcerts him. What if the portal closed while he was still trying to convince the Empty? What if he's failed at saving Cas after all? The moment he tells himself it wouldn't matter – not that much, because they'd still be together – he feels it. He wouldn't be able to explain it (these things rarely make sense, anyway; in his experience, the best you can do is go along and ride it out), but he can feel the bunker...calling. Both Cas and he rush in that direction, and sure enough, they pop out in the room, to Jack's puppy grin, the one the kid always gets when he's managed a trick right and he's obviously aching to hear “Good boy”, and Sam's relieved one. But nothing matters more than Cas' fingers intertwining with his own, now that they can – solid and warm and strong.

“You're back!” That's Jack, frankly bubbly, and of course Cas takes a step as if he plans to hug the boy. He's still not let Dean go, though. Before he can, the kid is raising a hand, warning, “Not yet. Something's odd with me, not that you have to worry, I'm not the one being hurt, and it's under control...mostly. So, really, it's okay. Still, I'd rather not take a chance. Can't have Dean fish you back too often!”

Babbling is hereditary, it seems. The thought just flitted through his head when he realizes that he's just claimed Jack as his child. No matter what he tells himself, and others, trying to stop a pattern that's never, ever gone well for him (one dead, one whose life he erased himself from before it could get to that point, and oh, he's half-raised Sam, and what a mess they've turned into)...maybe that's another thing he might as well stop trying to run from. Later. When they're not dealing with yet another apocalypse.

Cas nods, again, and smiles blinding-bright, and oh God, Cas has smiled at him, at them, plenty of times, but Dean didn't know it could be like this, and he's going to beat himself up over being a dampener for so long.... And at the same time he'll be forever proud to have caused this, because Cas says, “He proposed to me.”

Of course Jack asks, “Proposed what?” because he's as much Castiel's as he's theirs, and that angelic cluelessness (or really, Cas cluelessness, considering many winged dicks he's met)...even if Cas has grown out of it, mostly, Dean is conditioned to find it adorable by now.

Sam laughs. “Congratulations. Though only you would do that, Dean, when there's literally no people to celebrate it.”

Wait, no people? Like, at all? Dean can see Sammy, skittering closer and closer to his own breaking, now that he's whole – happy, happier that he's been his whole life, possibly. Still, his brother is pretending all too well, definitely enough to fool anyone who hasn't been observing him like a hawk almost since birth. “Come along, Jack. I need help,” Sammy says.

“But –” The boy starts to protest, giving up when Sam bodily tugs him along, with a promise to explain. He's giving Dean still a little time. A little time to just _have_ Cas before he's going to stitch together what shreds of sanity Sammy's still holding onto, by hand if necessary. And then kick Chuck's ass, because fuck him. And because they need to save the world, if someone will have to make official that Castiel is going to take his last name. All his last names, at that. Speaking of...

“You know, technically you didn't answer.” He grins.

Cas rolls his eyes. “Yes, Dean. Of course I want to amend our oversight and be married to you, as soon as possible. Preferably after we've won, though, because –” The sentence hangs in the air around them, but his angel's fingers are squeezing, hard, and the message is clear anyway.

“Hey, as I said, in this family we don't believe in staying dead. No matter what Chuck plans. No, no matter what anybody plans. They won't manage to tear us apart anymore.” For once, he does have words. Because it's not a promise, it's not feelings, it's a war goal, and these Dean is comfortable with. The universe can try. Now that the two of them aren't divided by their own insecurities anymore? God and the universe better send congratulations, too. Or they're going to get bent until they apologize.

And then Castiel is kissing him, again, but this time it's real. This time it's warm and eager and Cas frowns for a second before sending an almost electrical, but still gentle feeling bursting through Dean's mouth. He's forgotten that he bit his tongue earlier, really, but Cas didn't like that and decided to grace-heal him without interrupting the kiss, and if that isn't the hottest thing ever Dean isn't human. He moans into it, loud and wanton, and when finally his lungs can't anymore, he regrets the limitations of humanity like he's never done.

He's panting, lost in blue blue blue eyes, and then Cas says, “Shouldn't we – ”

“In a minute.” Of course they should, so so many should, but he's going to be greedy. Just another moment. They have an odd ten years of wasted opportunities to recuperate, after all. “What did you want?”

Dean knows what _he_ wants, and clutches at the body in front of him, like it could disappear all over again. Cas' hands are sneaking under layers and layers, not even bothering to properly undress him, seeking skin, and Dean is moaning again. That's barely a touch, really, but. _Cas._

_His_ angel is kissing him again, that spot behind his ears that makes him weak, his throat, and Dean would love to give back, if there wasn't so much in between them (and if his brain could work enough to coordinate movements). Whether it's intentional or not, he finds himself pushed against the same wall he crumpled against so short a time (a lifetime) ago, the support now welcome, when all he can do is to undulate against the body trapping his. Needy already. Desperate. “Cas. Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas...” It's a litany. Prayer. 

Unless literally unable to, Castiel always answers Dean's prayers. They're suddenly naked, and – he doesn't care how, just that he can touch, can feel, and it's almost overwhelming him on the spot. It doesn't, thankfully (he would never live that down). How monumental it is for his own reverent hands to be allowed to caress the angel's body enough of a distraction. As much as he'd like to indulge now, learning every inch of skin with fingers and tongue and then start back again, molasses-slow, neither the situation nor his own need – or Castiel's, Cas hard and dripping against him, and how can this not be an hallucination – allow for it. 

“Dean.” Castiel's voice is so deep, he can feel it in his bones.

“Yees?”

“Can I?” Cas' fingers are skimming his perineum, now, and they feel slick, and Dean isn't going to question that, either. 

Instead he says, “You better, love,” because he can now. He bucks against the breach, because yes-more-please. He shudders at the slight shock and oh my he knows that feeling. He didn't know grace could work for...that. His next moan might or might not be heard till Lebanon, but Dean doesn't care. 

He's not sure how much of his internal monologue turns out loud, but Cas makes quick work of any hint of resistance Dean's body might have held. He's putty when his beloved finally takes him, groaning, hot and hard. Passion driving them both, feeding and echoing off each other's, until it's impossible to hold on. Dean's had more than his own fair share of sex, but there's only one orgasm (for now, hopefully) he would undeniably classify as a mystical experience. 

Coming back to earth, a wayward thought flits through, before he can collect himself enough to face everything that's waiting for them. He already bears Cas' mark on his shoulder, Cas' writing on his ribs...and if he ended up branded inside again, unmistakably Castiel's to have and keep and love... Actually, if he  _didn't_ , where does Dean have to sign for that? 

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. Just a headcanon that I kinda wanted to write in but it was never the right time: I suspect that Sammy gave up on the Cage Chuck plan not just because the world would be overwhelmed with monsters, but because it would eventually break apart the Destiel, and break Dean, and dammit, Dean deserves better. That's part of why he's so pissed off when he learns what happened.


End file.
